


Cashing in Favors

by Fanforlife84



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-10 12:38:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2025384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanforlife84/pseuds/Fanforlife84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly cashes in a favor from Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cashing In

Molly sat in front of the countertop in the pathology lab.  A gruff, frustrated whoosh of air escaped from her mouth as for the third time in less than thirty minutes, her shaking hands caused her to add a few too many precarious drops onto a microscope slide, effectively ruining yet another sample that she had been trying to prepare for analysis.  

 _Get it together Hooper!_ Molly growled to herself.  Try as she might, though, she couldn’t shake the butterflies flip flopping in her stomach and the shake of her hands as they worked the pathology counter, nor could she seem to step away from the razor sharp edge that her nerves seemed to be so precariously balanced on.  _Maybe he won’t even show up today.  He hasn’t been in in weeks._

Molly had received the overweight, ominous envelope in the mail a little over a month ago.  She had put off replying until the very last possible day; she had felt a thick, heavy cord of dread wrap itself around her insides as she dropped the return envelope into the post box.  The second the heavy parchment envelope slipped out of her fingers and into the dark void of the box, she immediately regretted it and contemplated for several seconds how much trouble she might actually get into if she ripped the box open and dug through the mail inside to fish out her envelope.

Emitting another strangled cry of frustration, Molly swiped yet another ruined slide into the waste bin and dropped her head into her hands.  Her stomach was roiling with terror, and the panic of the tasks that lay before her made her head spin.  She was very grateful that she was seated.  She gave a deep gut-wrenching sigh and fished her mobile phone out of her lab coat pocket.  As she tapped out a text with an unsteady finger, she felt another wave of nausea and dread sweep over her.

_Need to cash in that favor.  Be working in the lab until late. – Molly_

She set the phone carefully face up on the countertop next to the microscope so that the screen was easily in view, then found after several minutes that she had yet to take her eyes off of the tiny screen to focus on the work in front of her.  She quickly flipped the phone over so the screen was face down.  She leaned in and began work on yet another slide then flipped the phone over to check the screen again before placing it back face down.  She gazed into the microscope lens, then glanced down at the phone, and flipped it face up, then gave an exasperated sigh and dropped the distracting piece of machinery back into her lab coat pocket.  With the offending gadget out of sight, she drew an unsteady breath and refocused on her work.  Why had she said yes?  She knew it would mean seeing him again, putting up with the chatter and the questions.  Why did she have to be such a caring person?

And why had she EVER thought this would work?  So she had helped Sherlock and Dr. Watson with a case several months ago.  Yes, perhaps the situation had placed her in the direct line of fire (literally) with an insane pyromaniac, but did that really give her cause to feel entitled to ask Sherlock for his help?  He had said so, hadn't he?  As he had swept out of the room off onto the next "game" that occupied his mind: 

_"Thank you ever so much for your help Molly.  I owe you one."_

Yes, she knew she had heard him correctly.  Now, though, she wondered if he had merely said it because it was the thing to do.  But that thought was fleeting as Molly reminded herself that Sherlock Holmes did not do things simply because they were the "thing to do."  Now she feared what he might say once she told him of her request.  Would he laugh? Would he say something terrible to her again?  Would he even show up at all, or merely ignore her as was so often his custom.

As these thoughts raged through her mind, she sat back in her chair and closed her eyes, rubbing her hands along the back of her neck, trying to work out the kinks that were rapidly growing there because of her position at the countertop and not the least from stress.  She breathed deeply through her nose, trying to ward off yet another wave of panic and fear.  She honestly didn’t know which of the tasks looming before her was worse:

Returning home to be a bridesmaid in her youngest brother's wedding, which meant facing her family and her past and encountering her ex-fiancé from 12 years ago who would also be serving as a groomsman….

Or asking Sherlock Holmes to pose as her significant other at the event in order to save some face amongst her family…..

Both, she was completely certain at the moment, could quite possibly be the death of her.

She let out another huge sigh, opened her eyes to try to focus on her work for the ten thousandth time in an hour….

And gave a gasp when the Belstaff clad consulting detective himself stood gazing at her from the other side of the counter directly across from where she was seated.


	2. The Favor

“You needed a favor, Molly?” Sherlock’s deep resonating baritone sounded like a slap within the silence of the lab.  It took Molly several moments to recover from the shock of opening her eyes to find him before her, almost as though she had manifested him there herself.  It took her several more moments to register that he had spoken to her, bringing her mind screaming back to the present situation she was in and the favor she was about to ask of him.  She began to feel sick once again and began to stammer uncontrollably. 

All of these silent moments plus the babbling was almost too much stagnation for Sherlock’s brilliant brain to take and he gave an almost imperceptible roll of his eyes and heaved a great sigh in through his nose.

“Listen, Molly, I was wondering if you might be able to put me in possession of a few spleens?  Middle age preferably, male would be most ideal.  Not more than a day or two old, I’d expect that would defeat the richness of the experiment.”  He spun around and marched with purpose over to a chemical cabinet on the wall behind him.  “And do you happen to have any arsenic lying around?”

Molly stared at his back.  When all he got was silence to his requests, Sherlock spun around and looked at her questioningly. 

“I…..w-well….I just had some fresh…..that is….”  Molly stopped, irritated with her babbling and the effect Sherlock had on her on top of the anxiety she was already feeling.  She gripped the countertop and gazed down at the tops of her hands.  “Sherlock did you not get my text?”

“Of course I did.  I had thought I had made that clear when I spoke to you upon first entering the lab.  Perhaps you hadn’t quite pulled yourself out of whatever foolish daydream you had been residing in but yes.  I had been on my way in when I received your message.  Upon seeing that you had no intention of immediately asking for said favor I decided I would inquire about my own instead.”

She simply looked at him, dazed.  She opened her mouth to refute his claim about daydreaming, to argue with him about taking hazardous chemicals from the morgue, to ask him for her favor, but instead simply squeaked,

“I’ve just got three new John’s came in yesterday and today…you can have their’s.”

Sherlock gave an almost imperceptible nod and turned with a sparkle in his eyes. 

“Excellent!  Wrap them up for me, won’t you?  I’ll be back in an hour.”

His long legs carried him purposefully towards the lab doors and just as he reached for the handle, Molly’s courage screwed itself up to an unexpected full height and she practically shouted,

“I wondered if you might attend a family wedding with me and pretend to be my boyfriend…..?”  She snapped her mouth shut with an audible clamp, horrified at her uncouth approach and dastardly way of phrasing her request.

Sherlock stopped in his tracks, hand extended before him in mid reach for the door handle.  After a few moments of tense silence, he turned slowly to look at her, eyebrows furrowed in question. 

“S-ssssorry?”  He asked.

Molly felt as though she was going to vomit all over the slides in front of her.  She kept her eyes focused on her hands, now white knuckled from gripping the table so hard, took an enormous breath, and simply plowed on in her awkward, infuriating way.

“Sorry, I mean, well, I meant what I asked, but I meant to ask you differently.  I meant to ask you if you would come with me to a wedding…Not like a date or anything…well, sort of like a date, but just for pretend really.  I need someone to go with, I can’t face them all without someone.  I know he’ll be there and I need to…..show that I’m better off than……” her voice cracked on the last few words as the trailed away in a whisper, “….I am.....or...was before.”  She blinked her eyes furiously.  No.  She would NOT cry in front of Sherlock Holmes. 

Sherlock tilted his head to the side and deepened his questioning look as he took several timid steps back towards Molly.  What on earth was Molly Hooper on about?  He began to speak, then hesitated, not quiet knowing what to say; for once not knowing the right questions to ask.  What was it about conversations with Molly Hopper in the path lab that had that speechless, baffling effect on him?  He was quiet completely stumped by Molly’s outburst, although his brain swam through the words trying to ascertain some meaning.  He gathered she wanted him to attend a wedding with her because of the presence of…..other people?   Who?

“Molly……I’m not entirely sure that I….”

“No, sorry.  I know.  I’m doing a rubbish job of asking; of explaining it all.”  Molly took another heavy breath in, ripped her eyes from where they had been glued to the table and met his across the countertop.  “I need a date for a wedding.  Not just any wedding.  My littlest brother is getting married next Saturday.  I’m going home to our family’s house and need a date.  It wouldn’t be such a problem normally, I don’t mind going to things like this stag sometimes.  Since Tom…well, I’m usually all right with being on my own.   But this….my family, they can be horrible when it comes to matching people up or inquiring about why you aren’t matched up, and I don’t want to be forced to have the conversation about Tom and I and how I’m faring alone and all.  Plus…..”  Here she hesitated, seeming to dig deep within herself to face something unpleasant.  “Well, the truth is, Sherlock, Tom wasn’t the first fiancée I’ve had.  It’s a bit embarrassing, really, but, well, I was engaged for a bit, back in Uni.  It didn’t work out, though….I mean, obviously.....it.....well, its a long story.  So, there’s that added bit about two nixed fiancées and talk of runaway bride and what have you, and he’s a groomsman so he’ll be there and I don’t think I can stand to have to face him on my own.  I just…..”  Another pause.  Her eyes had found their way back to her fidgety hands on the counter.  “I just….I don’t know what else to do, save pay for someone to go and I can’t very well afford that.”  She laughed a little at her own desperation.   “I thought that maybe, well, maybe after everything that’s happened between us….I mean, not anything like that, I mean….just, everything with Moriarty and then with this last red headed Pyro that maybe….maybe you could go with me and help to deflect some of the worst of it, I’ll pay your way and it’ll be good food and plenty of drink if you like and there’ll be lots to do, even if you don’t want to do things having to do with the wedding lot, and there’ll be lots of odd, cantankerous family members that you can deduce about and keep yourself occupied and entertained and well……” the longer she spoke the faster she spoke and the more her words ran together until Sherlock’s head was spinning with trying to keep up with her ramblings. “Well, that’s all really.  Only if you want to.  We’d leave day after tomorrow, Saturday, and be gone just over a week.”  She glanced up at him through her eyelashes.  When Sherlock did not move or speak, but simply continued to gaze at her with one eyebrow raised, she lamely finished with, “That’s all.”

Sherlock blinked several times then shook his head slightly, putting his thoughts in order.

“Ah, well, Molly, as you know, social situations are not my strong suit, much less weddings.  I think John and Mary’s wedding is evidence enough of that.”  Molly smiled a thin-lipped, half smile, sensing where his answer was going.  “I’m not sure I would be the best choice to accompany you.”  Her face fell and he thought he saw the tiniest tremble of her lower lip as she ducked her head back towards the countertop.  He was surprised by the sudden tug he felt somewhere in his stomach at her reaction.  _What on earth was that?_   He thought.  He quickly grasped for something to say to appease the crushed pathologist before him.

“But….uh…perhaps Graham could be of service.  He and his wife are separated again, I’m sure he would appreciate the distraction….” He saw Molly look at him with a quizzical look on her face, stopped for a moment, thought that something was not quite right about that statement, then forged ahead anyway.  “He seems to do very well at weddings and I’m sure the Yard can do without him for a week.”  Molly’s face registered first understanding, then a look of annoyance.

“Greg, Sherlock.  Lestrade’s first name is GREG….”  She hesitated again.  Glancing away from him, she said, “And he’s being sent on a training conference in Paris for the next two weeks.”  Sherlock felt a bit deflated, first by the news that his alternate plan for her would not work, and then with the recognition that she had asked someone else before him.  Before he could stop himself, he let out,

“Oh?  You've…already asked him?”  Molly looked at him with a curious look, not quite sure, but thinking that she had detected a tone of hurt in his voice.  But any trace of annoyance or hurt or anything else was absent from Sherlock Holmes’ face.  His eyes swept the room in an uncharacteristic way, not settling on anything in particular, and not meeting her eyes steadily as they usually did. 

“Sherlock, I know this is unusual and slightly awkward.  I know it’s an unconventional favor to ask of you, but…..” her voice got smaller as she spoke the rest of her mind.  “I’ve never asked you for anything Sherlock and I’ve never expected anything from our friendship.  And I won’t ever ask for anything again; like this or otherwise.  You have my word.”  She let those words sink in, then she finished by saying quietly,

You needed me once Sherlock.  I know the situations are not at all similar in circumstance, but, now I need you.  Just this once.”

Sherlock’s eyes finally ended their frantic flight around the room and landed squarely on hers.  She wanted to kick herself for allowing her eyes to well up.  But she held her tears in with all of her remaining strength and met his strong gaze with one of her own that did not feel quiet as strong. 

 _Diamonds_.  The thought flitted through Sherlock’s mind as he saw her eyes glitter beneath the harsh florescent lights of the lab, knowing they were simply filling with unfallen tears, but being unable to keep the metaphor for her eyes from crossing his thoughts.  He shook his head slightly, then turned and abruptly left the lab without another word.

Molly hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she exhaled and began to breathe frantically, holding her head in her hands once again on the countertop.  Her heart seemed to be beating a million beats a second and she saw spots swimming in front of her eyes.  She knew she would not be able to walk for several minutes and was once again very grateful that she was seated in a lab chair.  She felt one rogue tear begin its slow slide down her cheek and she angrily shook her head and swiped it clear.  Then, she counted to 5, breathing deeply as she did so, and reached once more for her samples and slides.  As she began her work again with a more steady hand, she heard her mobile bleep in her lab coat pocket.  She retrieved it and opened the message:

_Will be ready to go at 9, Saturday  -SH_


	3. Arrival

Molly’s hands were sweating on the steering wheel as she turned onto the long driveway leading up to her family’s home. Her neck was stiff and she had progressively felt her shoulders getting more and more tense every time they past a mile posting closer to Dartmouth. 

                Molly’s original plan had been to leave mid-morning, make the almost 5 hour drive to the South western region of England and then decompress and get settled before having to confront the people and mine fields that she knew awaited her at the family and friend cocktail party at the house.  Upon pulling into a space in front of 221 B on Baker street, she had begun to panic when she saw Sherlock (scarf and coat clad as usual) alighting from his flat (dear Mrs. Hudson chattering obliviously from behind him) carrying just one small leather bag.  Upon inquiring if that was all of his things, Molly realized that she may not have prepped the sometimes socially awkward detective with the necessary information to pull of this stunt.  Standing on the sidewalk, her face pale, she stammered, stumbled, and yammeringly did her best to explain that in order for them to pull off a ruse convincing her family they were in a relationship (and to completely throw her ex-fiance into a tail spin) Sherlock’s persona needed to fit a certain mold and be flawless.  They would need to play a happy couple, and Sherlock would need to dress the part of a doting boyfriend prepared to schmooze at his girlfriend’s brother’s wedding.  That would mean participating in family events of all kinds and that would mean more than just one single bag of clothing.  When he inquired as to why exactly he needed his wardrobe to look so specific, Molly brushed that aside and continued to insist that he need to have more attire in his travel arsenal.  Sherlock’s eyebrows had knit together for a moment, then he had asked,

                “What exactly did you have in mind?”

                “Well,” Molly had thought for a moment.  “Do you…..I mean, do you happen to own anything other than Spencer Hart suits?”   When she had received only a blank look from Sherlock, she had pushed on with a few other prompts.  “Some casual wear, maybe?  Denim jeans?”  Nothing.   “Um, maybe a jumper and khakis?  A polo or something?”  Still nothing.  She had given a sigh.  “Maybe we should make a quick detour to Harvey Nichols.”

 **********************************************************************************

                After a whirlwind spree through the department store, (which included a new set of luggage in which to pack all of Sherlock’s newly acquired wares) Molly had felt only slightly better about the entire situation.  She felt as though she were precariously close to a mental breakdown.  At one point, while standing in the men’s denim jean section and thumbing through the racks looking for Sherlock’s size, she had found herself giggling uncontrollably at the thought floating through her mind that she was “shopping with Sherlock”.  It reminded her of a title of a home shopping television program.  When Sherlock shot her a raised eyebrow, she muffled her hysterical giggles and focused on getting them through the department store and back in the car and on the road as quickly as possible.

                Molly had been ready to fork over an entire month’s rent in order to pay for Sherlock’s new apparel (his “costumes” as he begrudgingly took to referring to them as) but she had been surprised when Sherlock had pulled a card from his wallet deep within his coat.  When she started to protest, he cut her off with a curt,

                “Not a problem, It’s Mycroft’s.”  To which Molly’s eyes had widened.  Sherlock had smiled slightly and shrugged.  “He doesn’t need to buy anymore Lycra exercise suits anyway,” Molly  had chuckled. 

                Over the next 4 ½ hours, she had peppered Sherlock with information and tidbits about what to expect of the week to come, the do’s and don’ts, and the ins and outs of her eccentric family.  Sherlock listened while watching the English countryside whip by along the motorway, occasionally inquiring for a few more details or asking a curious question or two.  He spent a good deal of time on his phone and at one point spent just shy of 45 minutes regaling Molly with a running commentary of how he had managed to solve his most recent case.  The continuous stream of Sherlock’s measured voice had been the only point during the whole trip that Molly felt slightly relieved from the heightened stress she felt, but it came screaming back quickly as they circled around Dartmouth and headed south into the countryside.  Now here they were, traveling carefully up the tree lined gravel road.  At the first glimpse of Molly’s family’s home through the trees, Sherlock sat up straighter in his seat, a genuine look of surprise on his usually stoic face.  They pulled around the bend and the house came into full view (along with the stunning coastal views behind it.)  The Georgian style home was three stories and gigantic with a circular driveway, lush foliage surrounding it, and several smaller buildings off set to the side and slightly behind the main house.  Just visible through the trees was what appeared to be a tennis court, and a field running parallel to the driveway hosted half a dozen horses grazing lazily not far from the barn. 

                Sherlock took in the spaciousness and grandness of the house, and then glanced sidelong at Molly, a question in his eyes.  Molly pulled the car in with the rest of the parked vehicles in the large driveway and made quiet an effort to avoid his gaze.  Without looking at him, she mumbled quickly,

                “Oh, I may have forgotten, my family is fairly well off,” And practically dove from the car.

                As soon as she lifted the boot door, she heard a high-pitched “Yoo-Hoooooo!” coming from behind her on the large stone steps at the front of the house.  Molly glanced over her shoulder and groaned inwardly: Great Aunt Edna!  The blue-haired older woman with large behind and rhinestone covered cat-eye glasses was waving and shouting gratingly across the gravel,  and began waddling down the steps and traversing the lawn and driveway; Molly thought she could smell her distinct combination baby powder, White Diamonds, cat, an beet body aroma from here….poor Sherlock’s super sensitive nose was liable to explode on his face! 

                “Hello Aunt Edna!”  Molly called with forced enthusiasm.  As Sherlock unfolded his tall frame from the confines of the car, Molly saw her aunt’s eyes widen and then gleam with curiosity and plain nosiness as she continued her trek.  While she was still out of ear shot, Molly hissed in Sherlock’s direction, “Whatever you do, don’t let her hug you, you won’t get the smell out of your clothes for days,” then turned back to smile sweetly at her aunt.  As the older woman loomed ever closer, Molly furiously started pulling bags from the boot, shoving them into Sherlock’s arms and frantically filling her own arms with luggage so that by the time Edna arrived, both of their hands were full and overloaded, preventing the huffing and puffing older woman from getting too close.  After initial introductions and small talk and twittering, Molly was overjoyed when from around the corner of the house, she spotted a dark brown head of hair in a high ponytail bobbing towards them across the lawn.  Her face broke into a happy grin.

                “Moooooooooooollllllllllyyyyyyy!!!!”  The overjoyed shriek echoed across the grounds and the crunching sound of gravel being kicked and skittered across the driveway echoed as a woman about Molly’s age and height bounded across the space and practically tackled Molly despite the numerous bags stacked in her arms.  She hugged her strongly, almost causing both of them to fall.  Molly laughed and dropped a bag or two in order to throw her arms around the dark haired girl, hugging her tightly.  When they broke apart, the girl turned, cocked her head to the side, and directed her attention to the elderly woman looking on.

                “Aunt Edna,” the woman’s voice was unmistakably American. “Mom is having some trouble deciding where to place the flower pillars and thought maybe you could give her a hand.  She’s on the terrace outside of the study with Gran and Aunt Stella.”

                “Oh bloody hell, they can’t seem to do anything without my eye for design and detail, can they?” Aunt Edna chuckled and gave a knowing wink as she waddled off quickly.  Molly looked at the brunette with a puzzled look on her face.

                “Your mother asked for Aunt Edna’s help with something?”

                “God no,” the woman scoffed. “But I knew there was no getting rid of her any other way.  Plus my mom has been driving me crazy, she doesn’t like it when I put my hair up and she’s been letting me know it since seven o’clock this morning at breakfast in front of Gran and God and everyone.  I figured a little covert revenge wouldn’t hurt anyone.  Why the hell are you so late?  I’ve had to pee for an hour and couldn’t hold it anymore.  I had no idea Aunt Edna was going to take over the welcome patrol.” She bent down and scooped up the bags that Molly had dropped and when her eyes traveled over Molly’s shoulder and settled with a question on Sherlock, Molly was brought back to her current situation.

                “Oh, sorry!  Sherlock, this is my cousin Bethany.  Bethany, this is Sherlock.” Molly shot a quick glance at Sherlock as he put down a bag and extended a hand to shake Bethany’s.

                “Sherlock?” Bethany’s eyebrows drew together in concentration for a moment, then flew upwards as her eyes widened with recognition.  “Sherlock HOLMES?”  Her eyes shot a question to Molly and a small smile played across her lips, as though remembering a very interesting detail.  “Ah, yeah, I’ve heard your name…..before…..”  Her small smile grew into a devilish grin as she gave Molly a sidelong glance and when she received a death glare from her cousin, she amended her trailed off statement, “In the papers……and the news.  You have quiet an international reputation, even in the states.”  She winked at Molly, which did not go unnoticed by Sherlock and gestured with her head towards the house and began to lead the way towards the massive stone steps.  “It’s a madhouse in there, just forewarning.  The cocktail prep is in full swing.  What happened to you, anyway?  What took you so long getting here?”

                “Sorry, we had to make a quick stop before we left the city.  Sherlock,” Molly said over her shoulder, slowing down to walk next to him, “This will probably be a little crazy.  So many people and all, we’ll figure out where you’re sleeping right away so you can  run there and hide.”  She chuckled a little then lowered her voice so only he could hear.  “ No worries about having your own space, my Grandmother is really old fashioned and has very strict rules about sleeping together before marriage…..” she stammered, “I mean…..sleeping…..in the same bed…..I mean room prior to marriage.” She felt her face turning beet red.  “Anyway, so with all this pretend nonsense you won’t have to worry about the ruse at all hours at least.”  She bit her lip and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.  His face was a carefully blank slate, and when she looked ahead of them to Bethany, she noticed her cousin with her head cocked towards them as if straining to hear and a small, devious smile playing across her lips.

                “What?”  Molly asked.

                “Nothing,” Bethany said, skipping up the steps ahead of them and calling out, “Molly’s here!!”

                The house seemed to erupt in a flurry of voices and energy.  Despite the overwhelming amount of activity that assaulted the three upon their entry into the massive front hall, Sherlock couldn’t help but be a tad distracted by the house he now stood in.  Even for someone who was not very impressed by material things, this house was particularly stunning.  Something about the home didn’t match up to the Molly Hooper he knew and saw in London.  From the expansive oak and gilt staircase leading up to a sunny second floor, to the bright rooms framing the hall that were filled with sunlight as well and elaborate, lavish furniture and decoration.  There were paintings that reached almost floor to ceiling and his eyes settled on a large portrait above a fireplace he could see in a cozy looking sitting room: a regal looking man, (with the same friendly, bright eyes as Molly) surrounded by a lovely looking woman (clearly the mother and matching small round nose and smile as Molly) and four kids: two boys and two girls of varying ages.  The eldest girl, perhaps 9 or 10 in the portrait, was an adorably recognizable young Molly Hooper. 

                _Did I just use the term adorable when assessing a picture of Molly Hooper?_ Sherlock puzzled. _That’s unusual._ He refocused on the hugs and kisses being shared and his attention was taken by a woman coming down a long hallway that obviously led to a kitchen who was wearing an apron and was merely a fast forwarded version in time of the mother in the portrait, albeit her hair streaked with grey.  She opened her arms towards Molly and kissed her cheek as Molly said,

                “Hi Mom.”

                “Molly, love.  Hello dear.  Look at you.  Oh my, a skirt to travel in?”  She clucked her tongue and proceeded to begin swiping at Molly’s floor length green maxi skirt.  “You know this type of material keeps in the wrinkles.  And you barely left yourself any time to change and do something with your hair and face.”  Molly’s cheeks flamed and her hand lifted to her obviously painstakingly coifed hair. 

                “Mom…”

                “Ah well, I’m sure it’ll be fine.  It’s all about Steven and Rebecca this week anyway isn’t it?   Doesn’t matter if the rest of us look a little rough around the edges.”  She gave a shrug and a small laugh and wave of her hand as Molly gulped and tried again,

                “Mom….”

                “Oh hello!  Linda Hooper, pleasure to meet you Mr…..” Molly’s mother reached her hand out to shake hands with Sherlock and looked expectantly at her daughter, waiting for an introduction. 

                “Um…..sorry, Mom……this is uh…..” Molly’s mind seemed to be drawing a blank, trying so hard to react to the numerous zings her mother had sent her way in the span of less than a minute.

                “Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock said brightly, stepping forward and shaking hands with Linda Hooper and giving her a warm smile.  “Wonderful to meet you Mrs. Hooper.  Molly has told me so much about you.”  He brought her hand to his lips and brushed a small gallant kiss across her knuckles, making her giggle like a teenager and a blush climb her neck. “You have a fantastic home, thank you so much for having me.”

                “Oh!  Why thank you Mr. Holmes.  It’s our pleasure to have you.  We were all so surprised when we saw that Molly was bringing a guest with her, she never really tells us anything about her personal life anymore, not since her last engagement fell through.  With Tim was it Molly?”  She looked at her daughter, who looked absolutely horrified at her mother’s words and shocked at Sherlock’s charming behavior.

                “Uh…..no, Mom….”

                “Tom I think it was, Ma’am.  He’s ancient history as far as we’re concerned; on to better things and more exciting prospects, isn’t that right love?”  Sherlock chuckled as he snaked an arm around Molly’s waist, pulled her close to his side, and kissed her sweetly on top of her head.  She tried not to fall over from shock and was stammering to string words together when the room seemed to fill with a new energy as a stooped, white haired woman with a cane and a regal air about her despite her age slowly entered the room. 

                “Hello Gran!”  Molly said, going to the shorter matriarch and kissing her on both cheeks.  “You look well.  Feeling better after your cold?”

                “It will take more than a nasty cold to off me, Molly dear.  Glad you made it safely.”  She looked her up and down.  “You seem to have put on some weight dear, not sure that the city agrees with you.”  Molly’s blush increased and she opened her mouth to speak when the woman’s sharp grey eyes fell on Sherlock.  “Did I hear someone say Sherlock Holmes?  The Mr. Holmes of the Reichenbach and Moriarty fame?”

                “The same Madame,” Sherlock said, stepping forward and shaking the woman’s gnarled hand, leaning forward to kiss her paper thin cheeks and giving her a warm smile.

“Evelyn Hooper, Mr. Holmes. Welcome.”  She said.

  “It is my pleasure and an honor to finally get to meet you after hearing so many wonderful things about you from your beautiful granddaughter.  Thank you for having me here.”

                The woman cast an appraising eye up and down the detective and smiled slightly.

                “Gran,” Bethany piped up from where she had been leaning against a side table, “Where did you want to put Molly and Sherlock?  They’ll want to freshen up and change and maybe rest a little before the cocktail party.”

                “Oh, yes,” Molly said, then quietly to her grandmother.  “I had thought if it hadn’t filled up maybe Sherlock could stay in one of the outside cottage rooms.  I’ll go wherever, but I thought he might be more comfortable there.  I know how you are about all that and….”

                “Don’t be ridiculous Molly.”  Evelyn turned her gaze on Sherlock.  “My grandchildren fancy me stuck in the middle ages when, in fact, I am fairly progressive for an old bat.  I’m not as old fashioned as you all may think.  Molly has come with someone that she is in a committed relationship with and so they can both stay in the upper attic room.”  She grinned and gave a sly, almost cheeky smile Molly’s direction.  “Further away from the lot of us, I think would be for the best.”  She gave a girlish wink to Sherlock, which he returned with a knowing, warm chuckle of his own and patted her hand as she squeezed his arm.  Then he grabbed the bags he had been carrying earlier and followed Bethany as she started up the stairs.  Molly, meanwhile, stood rooted to the spot in the hall, her face pale as the other family members went back to what they were doing prior to their arrival.  Bethany stopped and Sherlock paused behind her, both turning to look at Molly.

                “What’s the matter Mols?”  Bethany asked, a wicked grin on her face.  “You don’t have a problem with your sleeping arrangements do you?”  Molly grabbed her bags, glared at her cousin (who somehow, somehow knew that something was not as it seemed between her and Sherlock), and started up after the two of them to the room she would be sharing with Sherlock; the room she knew had only one queen sized bed.  Her face flamed yet again and she was relieved that she was behind Sherlock and Bethany so that neither could see her uncomfortable face.

                This was not quite what she had planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is appreciated. Have a great day, all!


	4. Roomates

               Bethany had shown them up two broad flights of stairs, chattering about the impending nuptials and activities surrounding it the whole way. At the end of a long hallway after the second flight of steps, Bethany opened a doorway hiding a third set of narrower stairs.  Traipsing up the incline, she opened a final doorway and plopped the bags she was hauling down just inside the door, then turned as Molly and Sherlock began depositing their own bags. 

                The room was on the smaller side but not confining; a soft blue color on the walls, hardwood floors, and a single window with a seat and soft, gauzy curtains allowing light to stream through and fill the room.  Across the room a doorway was open allowing a glimpse of a vanity sink, toilet, and clawed foot bathtub with shower curtain pulled back.  Sherlock assessed the room: the bed, the tall wardrobe in on corner; took his cell phone out of his pocket and placed it on the desk next to the window; then pulled the filmy material back to gaze out at the view.  They were at the rear of the enormous house and from this third level there was a breathtaking view of the ocean a short distance from the house.  The landscape seemed to drop off and meet the crashing waves of the ocean in a small, rocky cove less than a mile from the house.  There was a fair amount of forest between the back gardens of the house and the trail leading down the hillside to the beach, and just off to the right within the view of the window, Sherlock spied a glinting expanse through a patch of trees signaling a small pond with a stream.  In all, Sherlock estimated the property stretched to 30 acres or more.  This was Molly’s childhood home…..Interesting.

                “Well,” Bethany gave a delighted smile and rubbed her hands together, a cheeky gleam in her eyes as she turned to Molly.  “Here you are, nice and cozy and……isolated.”  Molly gave her a look and Bethany’s smile dissolved into a grin.  “This is where I leave you.  Going to start getting ready myself;  See you both in a bit.  Take your time….” Bethany winked and tripped away down the stairs. 

                Molly let out a huge puff of air that she hadn’t eve realized she had been holding, then turned and awkwardly looked at Sherlock, who was pensively staring out of the window at the property sprawled out behind the main house.  Just on the very edge of the view from the window to the left of the house there was a long one story building with floor to ceiling windows that housed the glistening flat surface of a full size swimming pool.  A majority of the pool sat still beneath the roof of the house, while a fourth of it that ran to the outside of the building lapped lazily against the edges steered by the soft breeze.  There was more to the building that could not be seen, but Sherlock guessed that the rest of the building most likely housed some sort of squash court or exercise room.

                “I’m really sorry, Sherlock.  I didn’t think…”  Molly’s voice trailed off as her eyes fell on the single bed.  Large enough to accommodate both of them, it still seemed to be the size of a matchbox in Molly’s mind when she thought about the proximity that it would allow between herself and the man on the other side of the room.  It made her stomach flip-flop.  She busied herself by digging through her bags, looking for an appropriate outfit for the cocktail party that would pass her mother’s inspection.

                “This is……” She was a little jarred by his deep voice in the quiet of the room.  She stopped on her to the bathroom with her arms full of clothing, and toiletries.  She looked expectantly at Sherlock, his back still turned and his attention focused out the window.  “…not quiet what I had expected of the home you grew up in, Molly.”

                “Yeah….um….it all makes me a bit uncomfortable….I don’t really feel like I fit in all that well when I do come back to visit.  Which isn't all that often.  And they're never shy about reminding me of that, either”  Molly took a deep breath.  “Ummm……so….sorry about my family, they can be a little overwhelming sometimes.”

                “I thought they were fine.” Sherlock turned his back to the window and looked at her, putting one hand in his pocket and looking at her with a curious look on his face.

                “Fine?”  Molly said, looking at him uncertainly, trying to get a read on how he really felt.

                “Delightful.”  He replied with a small smile that didn’t quiet reach his eyes as they flitted around the room once again

                “Delightful?”  Molly repeated, raising an eyebrows and looking at him with a ‘did that word really come out of Sherlock Holmes’ mouth’ look.  His eyes met hers and he gave her a sheepish, half-smile that did reach his eyes this time.  Molly gave a small chuckle under her breath and shook her head slightly.  “So, ummm….I’m really sorry about the rooming arrangements.  I thought for sure you would have your own place.  You can have the bed, though if you like, I can…”

                “Nonsense.”  Sherlock cut her off, standing up straight and wandering over to retrieve his laptop out of his bag.  “Plenty large for the both of us.  You know that I don’t do a lot of sleeping as it is, should I require rest, we are both adults, Molly, we can share the bed.”  He settled himself down in the armchair next to the bank of windows and opened the computer, the matter settled.  Molly gave a nod, gulped, and then turned back towards the bathroom.  Just as she was about to close the door, she stopped.

                “Listen, Sherlock...”  His steepled his fingers beneath his chin, he raised his eyes towards her from his spot across the room.  She gazed at him for a moment, then sighed. “Thank you.  For coming here with me, I mean.  I know this isn’t your type of thing and you can probably think of about a million things you’d rather be doing with your time and people you’d much rather be spending your time with but….”  She stopped, irritated that she was rambling yet again.  “I just…..I mean…..I wanted to say……”  He kept his eyes locked on hers the whole time, waiting for her to finish.  She steadied herself and finally managed to murmur, “Thank you for coming with me.  I’m.....I'm so grateful you’re here.” She thought she saw a slight flicker of something in his eyes, something she couldn’t identify, but she was not entirely certain as she stepped back in to the bathroom and toed the door shut.  Sherlock was left in the cozy room with own thoughts, peering at the door to the washroom for a few moments longer than he needed to.  He heard the sound of water in the sink and imagined Molly splashing water on her face. He imagined her swiping a brush through her silky, chestnut hair, pulling it off of her thin, graceful neck; dabbing a soft scent of perfume behind her ear, right on the sensitive spot that he had read once caused a special reaction in women; begin drawing lipstick on her soft lips……

                He started, jerking his head back and eyes growing large. _What in the world?_ Where had all of that come from?  He gave a sharp sigh out through his nose, narrowed his eyes at his own ridiculous train of thought, and refocused he attention back on the screen before him.


End file.
